


Fire Whiskey at Eleven in the Morning

by Farmulousa



Series: Dust Motes [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Party, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Grieving, Napping, Oral, Sadness, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farmulousa/pseuds/Farmulousa
Summary: Pansy has been dragged to the party of a one-year-old she doesn't know, only to find the child's father drunk in his own kitchen. Seducing him seems to be her only way forward, and excellent revenge for being abandoned in favour of Hermione-sodding-Granger.--“Would you stop being a fucking hero for one single second?” She slammed her mouth against his and she felt her lips scuff against his bottom lip in a way that, without the thick tension between them, could have been a truly awful first kiss. His lips slanted over hers and his fingers went back into her hair, tighter this time. He held her with her chin raised so that he could pull his bottom teeth along the edge of her cheek bone and into her hair where he took one long breath.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Pansy Parkinson
Series: Dust Motes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741585
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	Fire Whiskey at Eleven in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts).



> This is a gift for the best of all of us, [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist). Her support since I wandered blindly into fandom Facebook groups looking for friends, has been invaluable. She also loved my Remus/Pansy from the Fairest of the Rare Facebook Group's Sing Me a Rare Competition & has inspired me to write 4 or five more. This is the first. 
> 
> You absolutely do not need to read Dust Motes to enjoy this, especially as this is before that chronologically, but I'd love for you to read it because I truly love these sad idiot babies. 
> 
> A MASSIVE thank you to my dream woman [MaraudingManaged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged/pseuds/MaraudingManaged) who truly _gets it_ when it comes to these characters. 

**April 1999**

Draco Malfoy was going to fucking pay. 

“Why don’t you wear the green thing?” He called from her bedroom where Pansy could guarantee he was ruining the lines of her perfectly made bed. He had shown up at her flat that morning with coffees and an almond croissant for her; the really good kind with the sweet almond paste along the base, a caramelised char around its edges, and a dusting of icing sugar over the top. The smell coming from the bag as he passed it to her was the only reason she had let him through her front door before nine am on a Sunday morning. She knew first hand that this man had been raised by a woman where manners were a priority but somehow Narcissa’s son wasn’t in attendance that morning. 

She knew what he’d meant. She had a pale sage green shift dress that, although a little short for the occasion, was perfect for the unseasonably warm spring morning. It had been remarkably good weather this year, it seemed almost sarcastic how much better the weather was compared to the previous April. Pansy tried not to think about that last year, tried not to think about how scared she had been all of the time, until she could sometimes live her life as if she had never been that vulnerable. 

Shooing away thoughts of school - after all, she wasn’t there now - she pulled the dress from the rack and held it on its hanger in front of her body. Draco was right; in fact, he was almost  _ always  _ correct when it came to clothes. He had arrived that morning in a pale blue shirt - the top button undone and the sleeves rolled to the elbow - and a pair of perfectly fitted navy trousers. He looked smart but not  _ too  _ smart, in a picture of carefully curated ease; he looked like  _ royalty _ . When Pansy had her dress on and had found a smart pair of pale tan leather loafers, she emerged from her wardrobe knowing that she looked divine. There was nothing she owned that didn’t make her look anything short of perfection, and she couldn’t at any time look anything other than impeccable. 

Pansy looked at Draco, who had very considerately straightened the ruffles to her bedspread and who now stood in front of her holding a pink leather handbag. He  _ always _ knew - she didn’t know how she hadn’t considered it before, but it would complement her ensemble precisely. She gave him a true smile, something that only he ever seemed to draw out of her, and took his arm before they both blinked out of existence. 

The cobbled street of the road they landed on seemed quiet and calm. She didn’t know what she had assumed she’d be coming to, but a smart suburban street with sizeable terraced houses and expensive-looking Muggle cars wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. As she gazed around, she saw that Draco was fidgeting with the buttons on the front of his shirt and brushing away lint that didn’t exist away. 

“Don’t be nervous Draco.” Pansy sniffed, tapping the base of his spine to remind him that his posture was unbecoming of his station - not that either of them had much of a station anymore. Neither of them were even invited back to finish their education unlike many of their year-mates had, they only just managed to hold on for somewhere to leave each after the reparations were paid to the Ministry. They had nothing but each other and a few friends but Draco had something more valuable than that - he had family. “You have just as much a right to be there as anyone else. More so, really: you’re family.”

“They all hate me,” he muttered, looking as sour as he had for most of their sixth year, and Pansy didn’t care for the reminder of that  _ at all _ . She levelled a look at him that she hoped Narcissa Malfoy would be proud of. Pansy’s mother had been a society darling but Narcissa had been the Queen of their court, and Pansy had soaked up everything Draco’s mother could teach her. Hopefully, that priceless skillset would become helpful in getting him to his cousin’s first birthday party without him vomiting on the cobbles they walked on. 

“Nonsense,” she sniffed. “You were invited.” 

“By Potter!” Draco spat as he looked down at the parchment he’d found in his pocket with the address they sought scrawled on it. There had been a tense but increasingly calm friendship building between Draco and Harry Potter in the last few months. Potter had been accepted without NEWTs to the Auror training program - saving the world afforded some nepotism which Pansy could admit was probably quite fair, all things considered - and Draco had been working unpaid for the Wizengamot Defense Department as a part of his community service following his trial. They had always been able to spot each other in a crowd but now that hexing each other would be grounds for assault, they had been forced to talk to one another. 

“Potter  _ is  _ the child’s godfather is he not?” Pansy steered him down the front path towards the dark grey door with stained glass in the windows. There were, for some merlin-forsaken reason, Muggle  _ balloons  _ tied with string to the door handle and both of them stood for a moment simply staring at them. “Potter has been tasked with the boy’s welfare, and no matter how idiotic that sentiment is, he has deemed you to be safe to attend your own cousin’s party.”

Walking up the front path, the children of war-criminals and the closest to incarcerated any of their school friends had become, they had to look collected yet unintimidating. If they didn’t, someone might see a glimmer of something wrong in them; if they stepped one toe out of line both of them would be on their way to Azkaban to be with their parents. 

As they stood just feet away from the door, neither of them close enough to knock, it opened and Hermione- _ fucking- _ Granger stood in the doorway. She looked  _ awful _ . She had a large brown cotton blouse tucked into jeans that were simultaneously too baggy for her petite frame and too short for her legs. She was wearing  _ grey socks  _ in her clearly well-used Muggle trainers and had spectacles in her hair that was piled on top of her head like a bird’s nest. Pansy had found the woman objectionable enough as a person before she had been allowed to dress herself in anything other than a school uniform, and scoffed slightly at the lack of etiquette involved in turning up like that for a  _ party;  _ but turning to Draco, Pansy realised there was something even more awful happening. 

Draco Malfoy was in love with Hermione Granger. His face was smooth and his features were controlled but his mouth was slightly open like a fish, and his eyes had glazed over when the door had opened to reveal Wizarding Britain’s Angel of War. Pansy should have seen this coming: she had spent nearly every day of her life within three feet of Draco Malfoy, but somehow she hadn’t noticed that he had fallen in love with this awful, messy, heroic swot. He hadn’t been nervous because he thought everyone at the _party_ would hate him - he was nervous that _she_ would hate him. 

Sighing, Pansy strode forwards to enter the house. If Draco wanted to stand in the front garden and stare at Granger all morning she wasn’t going to stop him, but she certainly wasn’t going to watch. 

“Granger, good of you to not make too much of an effort. Where’s the booze?” Pansy drawled, trying to look into the house in search of a kitchen - or better yet, a bar. 

“Parkinson,” Granger said in the most polite tone Pansy had ever been spoken to by a Gryffindor. “There’s no alcohol. This is a baby’s birthday party.” She still spoke like everyone around her was an especially challenged child, but Draco had the gall to snort behind her. 

“There’s always alcohol if you search hard enough, Granger,” Pansy said before sweeping past her and into the tiled hallway. The house wasn’t as horribly tasteless as she’d expect of a man who, when he had been Pansy’s teacher, had barely tucked his shirt in all the way around. Remus Lupin’s house was practically  _ acceptable _ . Thinking on it, Pansy recalled that his wife had been a Black and no matter her blood status, one simply couldn’t teach the generations of taste and class that was entrenched in that particular dynasty. What a shame she’d died, Pansy thought, as Nymphadora Tonks seemed to have had an eye for colour. 

In the garden, she could see that someone had applied a bubble charm above the tall fences that stood either side of the terraced gardens, and there were grown adults playing on brooms. 

This was going to be worse than Pansy could have even imagined, and she deeply wished she’d stayed at home. 

Looking into her bag, Pansy found the book she had shrunk to fit in the small leather rectangle and enlarged it to it’s normal size. It had been a series of children’s stories that Pansy had enjoyed as a child, and when Draco had insisted that she accompanied him to this  _ place  _ she had found it in a Wizarding Bookshop near her flat. She might not have known Teddy Lupin, she might not have cared if the boy lived or died, but she had been brought up well enough to know that one never arrived at a party empty-handed. 

There was a table on the left that was piled high with presents; she was certain she had never come across a more popular one-year-old. At the parties she had gone to as a child there were always a lot of presents, of course - but they had always been from the parents of the guest of honour, with a much smaller pile from the three or four pureblood children who were of the correct social status to be invited. Pansy was  _ always  _ invited, naturally, but her parents had made it clear early in her life that it was never about what parties you went to, but the message that could be sent by non-attendance. Her parents would be livid that she was at the home of a halfblood werewolf…. but they had also tried to get her to take the Dark Mark when she was fifteen, so she didn’t often believe their advice to be sound. 

“Parkinson?” A light but shocked voice came from behind her and she turned to see Ginny Weasley. Now,  _ Weasley  _ knew how to dress. She was in a pale blue shirt dress that was tailored at the waist and rested at an occasion-appropriate mid-thigh. This was particularly remarkable to Pansy, as the last time she had seen the girl they were all covered in rubble and blood - she had been covered in mud and wearing quidditch leathers. 

“Weasley.” Pansy nodded, trying her best to look absolutely neutral. The sneer that was usually summoned by that family name had to be suppressed. She wasn’t even properly invited to this event, she was here for Draco - she would be courteous. Courteous and nothing more. “You’re not at school?” 

“I’m going back next year,” she answered distractedly, still obviously confused by Pansy’s presence. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know you’d be here. Does Harry know you’ve come?” 

This would, she feared, be the elephant in every room Pansy would ever be in for the rest of her life. Pansy, while fearing for her life and fearing what would happen to her if her parents found out she had seen Potter and done nothing, had tried to convince the entire student body of Hogwarts - to give Potter to Voldemort on a platter. She would be known by her actions in that moment for all eternity, she would be hated by strangers and inspire disgust in her peers until the day she died. When she died, Pansy thought, some people would be happy. They would toast her downfall. 

“Draco,” Pansy coughed a little, shaking off the wave of sadness that so easily dragged her downwards when she let it. “Draco told Potter I would be coming, I’m sure.” 

“Oh, alright then,” Weasley said, a familiar softness to her voice that made Pansy’s skin ripple with disgust. “It’ll be a little bit until they do presents and cake and stuff - you should get some food from the kitchen.” 

The red-head walked quickly away towards another head of red hair that Pansy didn’t recognise at all, but was unmistakably a Weasley. Pansy was suddenly all too aware that most people here would assume her to be a threat to all their lives. All of them had been too caught up in fighting for the good of Wizarding Kind to notice her at all. Even her parents were so busy casting killing curses that they had no concern left for her safety, and she had known what to do almost immediately. 

She attempted to kill her father on sight. 

Pansy knew, obviously, that the people at the party didn’t care about how she had  _ truly _ desired to kill her own father. He had been a skilled duelist; he had taught her without her mother’s knowledge - young women of society didn’t duel, after all - and so she had seen up-close just how dangerous he could be. She knew that with him dead there was a better chance of it all being over - or at least, the  _ preferable _ type of over. He had dodged her spell and left her to die in the middle of a battlefield where she had become an enemy of both sides. She might as well have killed him, for all the darkness it brought her. 

“You look how I feel,” a voice carried from her right. She had wandered into the kitchen and clearly had not been careful enough to school her features as she found the father of the birthday boy drinking Firewhiskey at eleven in the morning. 

“I  _ knew  _ there was booze,” Pansy muttered, victory over Granger briefly singing in her veins before she truly recognised what was in front of her.

Remus Lupin looked  _ awful.  _ He didn’t just look tired like the single father of a one-year-old should; he looked grief-stricken, sick. Pansy knew, logically, that they were less than a month away from the anniversary of his wife’s death; but she also knew that it was three nights away from the full moon, and she wasn’t sure which was taking the greater toll. 

“Normally, I would expected a gentleman to pour me a glass... but I can see that you are essentially incapacitated and will graciously pour my own.”

He raised his glass to her without looking up, and Pansy huffed before grabbing the bottle from the table in front of him. She summoned a glass that seemed clean enough that she could stand to lower her standards slightly and use, pouring herself a generous measure. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and she had found booze when she had needed it - so she wasn’t going to look down on the glass that was neither cut crystal nor hand-dried. 

“You should be laying down,” she stated, seeing him for what he was - an unwell man. She didn’t believe that werewolves were some sort of danger to all of their lives, or anything other than humans infected with something unthinkably horrid. Apparently, they also had no sense of self-preservation, because she was sat opposite a man who should be sleeping before he had to change into an entirely different species in two nights time. “Your adrenalin must be depleting by now, only two nights left unti... you should be conserving your energy.” 

He watched her talk like a dog might, and she tried to stop herself from laughing at her own rather silly observation. This man was trying very hard to be awake for his son’s birthday party and deserved better than a guest he didn’t invite laughing at him at his own kitchen table. 

“Miss Parkinson,” he addressed her, looking straight in the eyes. “You never held an interest in the biology of werewolves when I was teaching you.”

Good  _ grief _ he was handsome. The last time he had spoken to her she had been thirteen and she’d thought herself in love with Draco - and she had no idea what went on in the world that didn’t directly affect the humidity of her hair. But now she was nineteen, far wiser to the world, and the man looking at her was strikingly beautiful. 

He had grown a beard since she’d seen him last - what seemed a lifetime ago, at the trials. His jawline had been emphasised by the bulk of it, but his cheekbones still rested high on his face, pronounced further by the hair he had grown out and tied messily on top of his head. His sea-green eyes were changing in front of her: the intensity of his stare was powerful, and as gold rolled across them like storm clouds she felt like she had to suppress a whimper. 

“I have been working in the Protection of Magical Creatures Department for my community service. I am assisting the werewolf liaison,” she said primly, straightening her back and looking markedly away from his eyes. She was not here to be sexually confused by a man a little over twice her age; she was here to support Draco, whom she hadn’t seen since she had walked through the front door of this house. 

“Morrison is a cunt,” Lupin remarked as if he were noting upon the weather and Pansy laughed. She laughed without her defenses up and without a mask on her face because Thomas Morrison, the Werewolf Liaison for the Ministry was  _ the most _ tremendous cunt. He constantly reminded her that she was there as a punishment, he would talk down to anyone that wasn’t his direct superior and worse - he didn’t seem to know a single thing about werewolves. 

“He is extraordinarily horrid, yes.” Pansy’s eyes were brought back to his almost immediately. It was like she was being pulled into orbit; like she was always meant to be around him, always meant to be looking into his eyes that were almost entirely gold now. The spark of an idea flickered in the back of Pansy’s mind; that the ultimate revenge for being dragged here would be to seduce the grieving single father in his kitchen. Draco would be forced to leave her in the safety of her perfectly furnished flat for all time when she had accomplished that. “I’m going to get you a Sober Up.” 

Pansy walked over to the kitchen work surface and pulled out her wand. Within a few minutes, she had Sobering, Hydrating and Pepper-Up potions in her hands. She was suddenly very thankful that she was in the kitchen of someone who was chronically ill for a week every lunar cycle, because healthy people didn’t tend to have the goods for a quick and effective sobering just lying around. 

“Under what circumstances do you think I’ll be needing those?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in a poor imitation of every Pureblood man she knew. 

“Well, Ginny Weasley informed me that there would be cake and presents, and I was under the impression that those things were for  _ your son _ .” She didn’t look at him as she spoke. Instead she simply moved about the space, putting the potion vials in front of him and turning to put a pain potion in her bag in case he needed it later. “You’ll need to smile and thank people because your son cannot, and you’ll need to shake people’s hands as they leave because this is  _ your  _ house.” 

Turning to face him, she bent so that although he wouldn’t see her cleavage, he would see the shadow where the slash neck of her dress came forward a little - and the promise of her body might be implied. She straightened his collar and pulled the seam of his jumper so that the shoulders rested in the proper place. She wasn’t going to be as forward as to touch the waistband of his trousers, but she murmured, “You’ll need to tuck in your shirt,” before straightening and making sure she had rumpled the front of her dress. 

“Tell me what to do next,” he said, staring down at her, his eyes flickering to where her hair hung under her chin. She thought briefly that maybe, if they weren’t at a child’s birthday party and he wasn’t grieving for his dead wife, this moment could be romantic. Mostly, though, it just elicited a dull sadness in the pit of her stomach; but at least it wasn’t  _ her  _ sadness this time, and a change could be as good as a rest. 

She ordered him around his own kitchen with military precision, and when he had a birthday cake with candles on top, she pushed him to walk out of his own patio doors singing Happy Birthday. Within moments, a pudgy baby toddled towards him with a massive smile on his face. The boy was a Black, that was for sure; and if a one year old could be handsome then Teddy Lupin certainly was. He could be Draco’s brother, not his cousin, she mused as the small boy dragged her best friend forward, his hair changing from powder pink to Malfoy blonde. Pansy enjoyed the rage that flickered over Potter’s face at that, but also saw Ginny Weasley’s face flood with concern before she wrapped an arm around the Saviour’s waist, pulling him to her. 

After the cake, Remus sat with his son, a garden full of war heroes, and two borderline criminals as Teddy destroyed wrapping paper and squealed at the children’s snitch that zoomed around his head just out of reach. As he unwrapped Pansy’s gift, Teddy was decidedly uninterested in the book, but Remus found her in the crowd when he read the card and smiled softly. That was unacceptable: he was meant to gape at her with stormy lust, not with soft affection. She levelled at him before glancing away with disinterest, but all he seemed to do was smile more broadly. Her rudeness apparently delighted him, which she found very interesting indeed. 

Some party guests left just after the presents had been opened, but a lot of them stayed past a time Pansy would have deemed appropriate - but when any of the people in attendance had ever been appropriate, she simply couldn’t say. 

Not that Pansy had left, either.

Draco was sat on a large deep leather sofa arguing with Granger, and had been for almost the entire party. They disagreed on almost everything; they disagreed on whether Granger should go back to school in the autumn, and whether Draco should also go if she did. They disagreed on how useful a career in the Ministry would be long-term, and what either of them would do if they didn’t work there. For people who had barely spoken to one another other than to exchange insults, they did have a lot of opinions on how they would each live their lives. 

When Granger stood and announced that she was leaving, Draco took one look at Pansy and left with the ill-dressed swot. A fucking traitor if ever there was one. Pansy chose to ignore the poor showing of decorum as people in love were very rarely well-behaved, and if Draco wanted to follow Granger around like a well-trained dog then Pansy wasn’t going to stop him. She vowed to turn up at Draco’s flat the next morning with coffees and croissants, and thought about how delightfully scandalous it would be if Granger was also there. 

“The twins are leaving,” Remus stood behind her at the entrance to the living room. He said it as though she should have known who  _ the twins  _ were, but she wasn’t going to admit ignorance in anything. Instead, she just stared back at him expectantly but avoided his eyes. “You don’t have to stay; you’ll be the last one left.” 

Pansy hadn’t noticed time until he had said it, but with dawning horror she realised that she had been there for nearly four hours. It might have been the first social faux-pas she had ever committed, and she could feel the disapproval of every woman who had ever attended High Tea at her mother’s invitation. 

“You still need to lie down,” she sniffed, peering at him in a way that she hoped conveyed that she was in control of their interaction; that whatever he had started, drunk in his kitchen, she would finish. 

“Come on then.” He smiled and turned away from her towards the hallway, and for some reason that she couldn’t divine, she followed him. He had ordered her and she had obeyed - the image of Draco following Granger out of the house like he had been called to heel flashed through her head, and she was immediately livid both him and herself. 

“Just where are we going?” Pansy scoffed when she reached the bottom of the stairs. There were people glaring at her from the photo frames that lead to the first floor of the house, where Remus Lupin stood staring down at her like he expected something of her. Somewhere in those photos, she imagined, was his wife. His  _ dead _ wife. He had only been a widower a year and he was taking her to the private area of his house like it was nothing.

“Well,” He said softly, only just loud enough for her to hear him. “There’s been this woman in my house all day telling me to rest, so I thought she might like to have evidence that I am a very well behaved werewolf who will do as he’s told.” 

She was laughing, again - how did he get her to laugh so easily? She climbed the stairs towards him, and he walked across the landing and through a doorway. She stood with the door frame surrounding her and watched as Remus took off his shoes and his jumper before lying down on his impressive four-poster bed. She hadn’t seen a four-poster bed since school, but oddly it didn’t haunt her the way most other aspects of her education did - she  _ missed _ her bed. She missed turning to Millicent and talking about something and nothing for longer than either of them could stay awake. 

She missed Millicent. 

“You should lie down too,” he said, with his eyes closed and his head tipped back facing the canopy above him. She baulked at his presumption, but she didn’t leave. Her legs weren’t working; the lines of his face were more visible from this position, and his beauty and charm intensified as she watched him. There was also, unavoidably, a curve over the flies of his corduroys that intrigued her. 

He patted the space on the bed next to him. “Pansy”

The way he said her name, the first time she had heard him say her name, was unlike anyone who had ever done so before. It compelled her to comply, it made her want to be there for him. It made her  _ want  _ him. She tried to avoid the loud click that her very new shoes would cause on the floorboards of the room but moved over to the other side of the bed, slipped those very new shoes off, and laid down beside him. 

“Where’s the baby?” She asked, staring at the canopy of the bed frame, trying so hard not to look at him that she thought she might strain a muscle in her eyes. 

“He stays with Harry and Gin this close to the moon,” Remus murmured, the sleep in his voice was syrupy and pulled at the muscles in her shoulders to relax against the soft mattress beneath her. She tried to think if she had seen the boy leave with Potter and Weasley, but she had been very busy glowering at Draco from across rooms and trying to keep the father of the birthday boy upright. Somehow, it was left to her to manage everyone else even when no one there even liked her. 

Pansy wasn’t aware that she had fallen asleep until she was stirring in a much darker room, wrapped in the arms of her third year Defense teacher, in a truly inhuman grip. He had maneuvered her into his chest and her face was getting uncomfortably hot against the soft cotton of his shirt. He was making soft breathing noises from above her that implied he was still asleep but a certain part of him against her hip was certainly wide awake. 

If she moved even a little, she would have brushed against him in a way that if not invitational, would at the very least be suggestive. The thought of it, of his erection responding to the suggestion of her hip, caused a shiver to run from where his hand was settled in her hair to the base of her spine. She felt a knot start to form in her abdomen; it had been a long long time since she had even the slightest of sexual encounters, and this was a grown man with a beautiful face and a hard cock pressed against her. 

Pointedly not thinking about the kindness in his eyes or the way his words demanded attention and compliance, she pushed away from him. She further ignored the way the muscle in his chest tensed so that his soft shirt shifted over his hard pectorals. There was so much to _ not  _ think about that she didn’t immediately notice when he opened his eyes. He took a long breath through his nose and she froze. 

Knowing what he would smell - knowing that his sense of smell was far, far greater than hers, and that his was  _ designed  _ to sniff out a willing body to conquer in the nights leading up to the full moon - she tried to will herself out of her state of arousal. Maybe, if she concentrated hard enough, the sheen of sweat on the back of her neck and the slick fluid between her thighs would just disappear. She would be able to leave this bed without succumbing to the urge to stay and look directly into the sold gold irises of the wide awake man who held her there. 

“Pansy,” he whispered, his breath skating over her jawline and forcing flickers of static over her skin. He looked so restrained, like he was holding himself back from something dangerous, and she wanted to see what that was - no matter how foolish it would be. “Pansy, arousal isn’t consent. You can leave, you can go.” 

“Would you stop being a fucking hero for one single second?” She slammed her mouth against his and she felt her lips scuff against his bottom lip in a way that, without the thick tension between them, could have been a truly awful first kiss. His lips slanted over hers and his fingers went back into her hair, tighter this time. He held her with her chin raised so that he could pull his bottom teeth along the edge of her cheekbone and into her hair where he took one long breath. She fumbled for his shirt and ripped it apart; there was absolutely no way it was expensive enough for her to be concerned about, and when the muscles of his chest were revealed the price of his clothing no longer seemed to matter to her at all. Why on earth would someone spend money on clothes with a body like Remus had? 

Rolling her over so he settled above her, he kissed down her throat to the neck of her dress where he released a growl of frustration that made her grin so hard her cheeks hurt. He was gone from on top of her and kneeling in front of her, looking up at her while persistently flickering his eye line under the skirt of her dress. Grabbing both her arms, he pulled her up to her knees in front of him like a rag doll. His huge frame in this position made her feel tiny, delicate, breakable, and she wanted him to smash her into a million pieces. 

Remus dragged the hem of her dress over her body to reveal the cream lace knickers and bra she had put on that morning without an ounce of assumption that anyone would see them. Not that he would be looking at them for very long, because without her paying enough attention he had removed her bra and was on her breasts like a man possessed. Using his weight against hers he was once again on top of her, but this time he was pulling her nipples into his mouth one after the other, playing with the other cool drying peak. Every time she felt the edge of his sharp teeth against the soft, puckering pink skin, a jolt of something glorious and golden travelled to the pit of her stomach and she was helpless to stop the small and embarrassing whimpers that left her. 

His large warm hand settled over her mound and a long, low whine, escaped from somewhere deep inside her. She looked at him and his eyes were glittering as he stared back at her with a smile that was somehow both threatening and wonderful. The only warning he got that she was going to leave his house without knickers was the almost imperceptible mischief that graced his features before he pulled the lace that covered her into his fist and ripped the fabric from around her hips. 

She tried her best to look offended or even a little bit irritated, but his fingers started to stretch her and any sense of anything other than the delicious tightness and the pleasure that radiated from her cunt to the tips of her toes was lost to her. She heard a soft wet noise and realised that it was coming from her, she looked down at the man between her thighs and the hunger in his stare made all noise disappear from the room. He placed a soft, wet kiss to the top of her thigh and pushed a third finger inside her. His fingers were thicker than average she would wager, and the pull inside her was intensified by the sharpness that caused her to hiss through her teeth. 

“It’ll be ok,” he murmured and continued to kiss the skin around the top of her thighs. “You’ll come around my fingers first and then we’ll see if you want more.” His voice, beyond the gruff authority, was unbearably kind. He spoke as if he were looking after her when she was unwell, as if the sweat on her forehead was from a fever and not the rising tension in her body. The thread that was keeping her going, that was causing her to mumble praise and to whisper  _ please  _ as he stroked places inside her that she hadn’t been aware existed, pulled tight, tight,  _ tight  _ as he placed his lips and tongue in a curve around her clit. 

There was a huge flood of wetness between her thighs and Remus’ face appeared as her vision cleared, shiny and dripping with  _ her. _ If a man who had just made her come all over his bed could look bashful, he did. He kissed her cheek and left a wet imprint of her juices there before he got off the side of the bed and finally,  _ finally,  _ took off his trousers. 

He was huge. 

Her brain had only just come back to the world of the living and the little gasp that escaped her made a flicker of doubt cross his features. He shouldn’t have been allowed to be _that_ _good_ at bringing her to orgasm and also have the most perfect cock Pansy had ever seen. 

“Good grief.” She whispered, her legs falling apart as if that was their natural inclination in the presence of such genital majesty. 

“It’s ok if you don’t want to,” he murmured, palming his truly gorgeous erection as he kicked off his trousers and pants. He stood over her, naked and overwhelmingly handsome, and he had the gall to look sheepish. 

“I’m _ impressed _ ,” she said, sitting up to pump her hand up and down his length. 

Remus reached down to brush her hair back from her face gently. “We’ll go slow. If it doesn’t work out, we can find another course of action. Would you like me to do the charm?” Remus asked her as she wet her lips and leaned in towards his cock. 

“I’m on the potion.” She smiled, her hands reaching out to try and touch him but he swooped around her before pouncing on top of her, trapping her legs between his.

“If you touch me or even breath on me right now,” he groaned as his cock settled against her abdomen. “I will embarrass myself. In fact -” 

He disappeared for a split second before his mouth was on her again. This time, he consumed her cunt as if she was his last meal. Gone were his gentle lips as his fingers stretched her; instead, she heartily welcomed the dull scrape of his teeth against the underside of her clit, and a soft and then sharp sucking action that pulled her whole body tighter and tighter. 

“Keep going, Pansy,” Remus told her and she whimpered, lifting her hips against his mouth. 

“One more,” she panted. “One more, and then, you have to fuck me.” 

Squeaking in a way that definitely didn’t become her station in life, Pansy felt everything inside her let go and although she didn’t squirt this time, she still felt the wave of warmth flow from her slowly, making her orgasm roll on and on. Remus stalked up her body as she revelled in the aftershocks, his face feral and his eyes blinding gold. When he was eye to eye with her, the vulnerability that poured from him made her choke back something she hadn’t been ready for. 

“Tell me how much,” he instructed her, the muscles in his forearms around her tensing as he eased forward. Pansy’s eyes flared wide and she moaned, long and throaty. Her lashes fluttered closed again as she tipped her head back. When he went too deep, she gasped, and he stilled, withdrawing a bit. 

“There,” her voice trembled. “Go slow?” 

He smiled down at her. “I’ll follow your lead.” 

Remus held Pansy’s hips and pumped into her slow and steady. She reached between them, and she felt disbelief that his thickness was fitting inside of her. Her hand slipped further down to grasp the section of his cock that wasn’t inside of her, and he made a pained sound that made her eyes flicker up to where his huge body towered over her. 

“I’d like to get you there one more time before you take me with you,” he whispered, leaving small kisses along her cheek bones and changing his angle so she felt the wide tip of him as it dragged along a spot inside of her that made her entire body convulse. “If you don’t mind, that is” he said with a childish, triumphant look. 

She couldn’t speak, though. She wanted to explain to him that he would not be in charge of her body, that she was the creator of her own destiny: if she wanted him to come inside her, if she wanted to know what it would feel like to have those thick veins pulse within her - she would. But the distraction of just how good he was at this was  _ devastating _ . All she could do was whimper and whine as he pulled her towards the cliff edge of her own pleasure, glided his fingers over her clit at the same time as hitting that delightful spot inside of her, and threw her over it. 

Screaming, coming so hard she could feel the hard stretch of the muscles in her fingertips, she didn’t notice when he had started to piston in and out of her. But as she bounced against him like a rag doll, he groaned into her skin how  _ perfect  _ she was and how little he  _ deserved  _ her and  _ thank you.  _ He thanked her so many times, that as he pumped into her and she felt the excess of his seed spill out around him and onto the mattress between them, she had the overwhelming inclination to tell him he was welcome. 

For several minutes, all she could think about was the come slowly trickling out of her. It didn’t seem to end as it soaked the bedcovers beneath her, and she panted into Remus’ arm at her side - she just laid there and felt the evidence of what they had done come out of her. 

This could never happen again. 

When she was sure her body would hold her upright, she would leave this house and she could never come back. This was not what her life was meant to be. She was meant to be concentrating on her community service before deciding what she was going to do with her life. She was apparently meant to be guarding Draco-sodding-Malfoy’s heart as he went after the one woman it would be most difficult for him to get, and she had to stay far far away from this handsome, sexy, awful, werewolf. 

She wouldn’t come back. No. Never. 


End file.
